


Sunrise

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Short Stories! [51]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Plot(s), Bearded Steve Rogers, Body Worship, First Kisses, First Meetings, Happily Ever After, Hydra (Marvel), Lingerie, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mild Angst, Nipple Piercings, Nomad Steve Rogers, Obadiah Stane is EVIL, Piercings, Prince Tony Stark, Some elements of suspense, Steve Rogers Feels, Stony - Freeform, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoos, Tony Wears Jewelry, Tony is Brilliant, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: The intruder took another step forward, the light catching the curved edge of his knife and horror settled like a rock into Antony’s stomach when he saw red and black ink peeking from the man’s collar./Hydra. The stories are true./“…You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”The intruders blue eyes flickered in what looked like regret. "I am sorry for this."/////Nomad is a soldier forced to do Hydra's bidding. When his mission takes him to the castle and to the bed chambers of Prince Antony Stark, Nomad is faced with a choice--  to finish his mission and finally earn his freedom or to save the last piece of his scarred soul and let the beautiful Prince live.Antony is trapped in the Palace, his life controlled by his Uncle, the Sovereign Stane. He yearns for a life beyond the palace walls but when the Nomad breaks into his rooms with blade held at the ready, Antony thinks all is lost----and then the assassin hesitates.Steven and Antony are two souls together in the moonlight, two lives on the cusp of ruin and as the sun rises over the palace, perhaps they will be two kindred spirits, finding freedom in each other's arms.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1000autumns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000autumns/gifts).

> Happy Birthday to Jess (1000autumns) and thank you for your commission! I hope you love it!

_Sunrise_. **  
**

Golden rays crept along empty streets, highlighting worn stones and crumbling brick, slipping across windows to brighten sleepy homes, touching on the highest fronds of the palm trees and sparkling across the oasis waters. 

The city woke up slowly, _begrudgingly_, eased from dreams and slumber and coaxed to awareness, first the lower streets where the children begged for coins, then the middle places where vendors parked their carts and hawked their wares. Next were the homes crowded one on top of the other, dishes clinking in kitchens as breakfast was prepared, the crisp night air exchanged for the scent of sugary syrup and freshly baked bread. 

The stained glass of the temple windows caught the light and flared it into brilliant colors, washing the narrow streets with shades of red, green and blue and for a few minutes before the sunlight moved on, the reflecting pool at the temple stairs was awash with rainbows. 

The palace outside the city was last to be woken by the coming day, the light climbing sandstone walls, spilling through exquisitely crafted archways flooding open hallways. It illuminated golden threads in woven tapestries, soaked into plush carpet and filtered through heavy curtains until the palace _glowed _from within, brilliant and opulent and so far above anything and everyone below, it seemed ethereal, untouchable by anything except the sunrise. 

The sunrise touched everything. 

_Everything except the Nomad. _

Once upon a time, Steven Rogers had been an entire person. He’d had a name, and he’d had a family, a home and a life and a reason to smile, and he’d sat every morning and watched the sunrise feeling _hopeful _for the new day. 

But _once upon a time_ was a decade and a lifetime ago, before the war and before Hydra, before Steven had been branded a slave, turned from soldier to assassin and condemned to the shadows. Now he was the _Nomad_, come to the dawn only to ready himself for the dusk, to watch his target in their final hours, to count the minutes until the moon rose in the night sky and the shadows followed his steps. 

The Nomad existed on the edges, clung to the fringes, grasped at the remnants and every time he spilled blood at Hydra’s command, he crossed his skin with ink so he would never forget all the places he lost pieces of his soul. 

And this morning as the Nomad watched the sun glint off the highest parts of the palace, he flattened his palm over his collarbone, along the bare strip of skin that would be filled with ink tomorrow. 

It would be his very last design, the very last time a needle would touch his body.

This sunrise marked the beginning of Nomad’s last day with Hydra, his decade of servitude fulfilled, his time of killing finally over. This time tomorrow the Nomad would walk away a free man, free to reclaim his name, free to return to the place his village had burned, free to attempt love and normalcy and a life_ all _over again. 

Nomad didn’t know what the Prince had done to deserve a death, or why Hydra worried about a spoiled child locked away in a high palace, and neither did he care.

_Amyr _Antony Stark would be dead by sunrise tomorrow, and the Nomad would be free to leave the shadows and feel the warmth of the sunshine on his face once again. 

Just one more day. 

One more mission. 

_By sunrise he’d be free._

*************

The Nomad ran an ungloved hand along the palace wall as he approached the main gate, feeling for a seam in the stone, an area of roughness or even a spot of weakness, but he felt nothing solid warm rock beneath his palm. The palace was constructed of monstrous sheets of sandstone, fit together too tightly for even water to trickle between the pieces. It was an admirable feat of engineering but the well appointed construction only served to make Nomad’s mission more difficult.

Such precise architecture meant there were no _opportunistic _entry points in the palace, no side doors or servants entrances, or even a merchants way like so many other palaces used. Nomad would not be able to scale the walls to a low balcony, or climb the garden lattice to an open window. There would be no furtive exploration around the walls or even through the gardens. He would have to stroll directly through the front gates and hope to blend in with the merchants and servants until he could find a place to hide. 

Nomad’s beard would obscure most of his face and long sleeves hid the myriad of tattoos along his arms. A quick tightening of the ties at his collar provided cover for the Hydra brand at the base of his neck and by the time Nomad joined the crowd moving through the gate he was just one of a hundred faceless commoners. 

_Invisible_. 

Inside the palace, the servants veered right through broad arches that led to the kitchens, while tradesmen and merchants went to the left to show their wares to the palace steward who would decide whether or not their craft was fit for royalty. Visiting holy men and dignitaries were ushered through the grand foyer to the the throne room itself, and Nomad noted the number of guards at the massive double doors before peeling off to follow the servants. 

Adjacent from the kitchens was a set of back stairs, wide and curving as it rose up to the higher floors, and Nomad followed a group of servants to the second floor, ducking his head whenever anyone looked at him too closely. When the servants broke apart for their individual duties, Nomad simply slipped into a curtained alcove to hide and to _wait_. 

The palace was monstrous, maze like in its complexity and Nomad was not going to take a chance at getting lost its corridors. No one, not even Hydra, knew exactly where the Prince’s quarters were so he would need to spend the entire day watching which servants seemed to be catering to a younger man’s needs, which tray of food from the kitchen was more directed towards a youth’s palate. 

The _Amyr _Antony Stark was a mystery. His exact date of birth was unknown by anyone except the royal family, and his first public appearance had been his parents funeral, but even _then _the child had been hidden in a lift and surrounded by guards. He might have been a toddler, he might have been a half grown child, but not _once _since that day had the Prince been allowed outside the palace walls. 

Even Hydra’s sinuous reach hadn’t uncovered more than a vague description of a soft voice and curly hair, a Prince old enough to somehow be a threat but young enough that the Sovereign Stane still controlled his movements. 

The Nomad had never received a mission with such high stakes and so little information. It felt it like a test from his masters, maybe even a sure fail. If Nomad didn’t complete his mission by sunrise, he would be bound to Hydra another ten years and it could be they intended today to be the _first _of the next decade of servitude as Nomad. An impossible mission given to a man desperate for his freedom.

_Was his freedom worth taking so young and innocent a life? Was he still human enough to care about that sort of thing?_

The Nomad pushed those thoughts away, and focused instead on moving through the palace towards the royal chambers, ducking from closet to alcove, slipping around the corners and hanging close to walls, hours passing by as he tracked servants paths and watched the guards rotations. 

Closer to evening bells, Nomad finally spotted a servant carrying a garment too small to belong to the Sovereign and too brightly colored to belong to anyone _common_. He trailed her from a distance until they’d left most of the rooms behind and the corridor came ended in front of a wide expanse of wall.

The Nomad watched in mild interest as the servant pressed at an invisible latch, and then his eyes widened when a door swung open on a hidden hinge and the servant disappeared inside up a set of sharply steep stairs. 

He waited until the door had started to swing closed again before bolting down the hall and slipping through the opening, flattening himself to the wall directly inside as he caught his breath. A moment to check no one outside the wall had raised the alarm, and Nomad took the winding steps at a quick run, two and three at a time. 

He was exposed here, hidden by the curve of the corridor walls for only a split second as the stairs wrapped around and around and up and _up_. Any guards present would see Nomad before he saw them, and he was at a distinct disadvantage being the one climbing towards a destination versus the ones _defending_. 

It was dangerous and uncertain and _again_, the Nomad wondered if Hydra had given him an impossible task just to be sure he failed. 

_The thought made him sick to his stomach. _

The stairs ended at a landing, and Nomad peered out the small window to see if any guards had a direct line of sight into the tower, then hurried through the still open double doors and into the chambers. 

The maid was humming tunelessly as she cleaned in one of the adjoining rooms, and the Nomad crossed the open space on silent feet, crouching down behind a plush couch and disguising his form in the folds of heavy drapes. 

He kept one hand on his knife in case the servant was planning to be _particularly _thorough in her tidying up, but after a few minutes the woman simply finished her work and hummed her way out the door, leaving the Nomad alone in the Prince’s rooms. 

He waited another moment just to be sure the room was empty before standing up from his hiding spot, sheathing his knife– and grateful he hadn’t had to use it on the unsuspecting servant– before turning to survey the room, taking in as much as he could and committing it to memory. 

Nomad had been prepared for a living space full of toys and children’s belongings, but the floor to ceiling bookshelves and desk scattered in parchment and writing nibs obviously belonged to an adult. A quick glance at the bathing room confirmed facilities set too high for a child to use, and as Nomad crossed the plush carpet to peek into the sleeping quarters, he was greeted by the sight of a luxuriously made up bed decked in rich colors a child would never choose. 

The Prince was definitely not as young as the Nomad had been led to believe. 

Interesting.

Interesting and potentially _complicated_. 

With the unsettling thought that this was a mission he was meant to _fail _rolling round in mind, Nomad went back to the dressing room and stepped behind the widely slatted doors of the Prince’s closet. It was past evening meal, so the Prince would only come to his dressing room to retrieve sleep clothes for the night and the Nomad could hide until then, watching the sun go down through the west facing window and waiting for the right moment to carry out his mission..

There would be time for stress later, time to agonize over his decision to take yet _another _life to finally earn his freedom. For now the Nomad just needed to breathe, to measure his heart beat and to count the minutes until his decade long nightmare would be over. He could spend the hours reliving the memories from a life he barely remembered anymore, trying to imagine being a free man…

…wondering if he _wanted _to be a free man…

…wondering if after ten years of killing, he knew what it meant to be _human _anymore…

Lost in rapidly spiraling thoughts, the Nomad startled into alertness when the chamber doors in the main room slammed shut hours later, the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into place loud in the sudden stillness. Nomad frowned to himself– there had been no bolt on the inside of the door, the only way to secure the chambers on the outside of the room. 

_Was the Prince locked in his rooms every night like a prisoner–?_

The Nomad’s mind stuttered to a halt when the Prince stepped into the light of the dressing room, stunned to stillness at the sight of golden skin wrapped in shades of blue, unruly black curls dotted through with flowers, the blink of gems lining a delicate ear lobe and red lips that parted in a pleased smile as the Prince saw a fresh bouquet of flowers on his vanity. 

The Prince was lovely. _Gorgeous_, in fact. Outright stunning and much closer to the Nomad’s own age than he’d ever thought and _oh_, it had been so long since the Nomad had been this close to something so beautiful he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. 

The Prince was humming as he got undressed, first stripping the bangles from his wrists and shaking the flowers from his hair, running careless fingers through the ringlets. Next he stepped out of fitted trousers, kicking the material from his feet and causing delicate chains at his ankles to tinkle. 

Baring a _tempting _amount of leg wearing only a tunic that fell below his hips, the Prince turned to the mirror and wiped away the gloss on his lips, the kohl at his eyes and then in one swift movement, yanked the tunic up over his head and tossed it away to the floor. 

The Nomad looked away. 

He was there to kill the Prince, not to ogle the monarch as he undressed. 

The Nomad kept his eyes averted until the Prince left the dressing room again, and only when he heard the sound of water running in the bath did he breathe out. A temporary set back, his freezing when he saw the Prince. It wasn’t even sundown yet, there was plenty of time for the Nomad to regroup and try again. 

He was almost free. 

_Almost_. 

****************

The sun was gone by the time Antony decided to drain his bath and even then he lingered in the water as long as he could before finally leaving the tub and patting down with a thick towel. It was warm tonight, warm and humid and far too uncomfortable to wear clothing, so Antony slipped a pair of lightly sheer sleep shorts over his hips and tossed the towel away. 

He was humming again, a song he’d heard the servants children singing in the yard earlier when he’d snuck outside for a few minutes. He had only wanted to sit in the sunshine and listen to the music, but Uncle Obadiah had been angry, _furious _really that Antony would dare to leave the castle walls. 

“I am still within the castle walls, Uncle.” Antony had pointed out as respectfully as he could, and the Sovereign had snapped, “You are outside your limits all the same! Get inside before someone sees you!” 

Well, no one was going to _see _him here in his chambers, so Antony swallowed back the ever present resentment about his forced isolation and sang a few lines out loud, dancing a few steps across the thick carpet of his parlor and smiling when the charms on his anklet jingled merrily, the last few rays of sunlight catching the gemstones and making them shine. 

Uncle Obadiah thought Antony’s ventures beyond the palace walls were the actions of a bored child, and today, the Sovereign had been right. Antony had simply wanted fresh air and a change of scenery today, but all the _other _times he’d broken the rules and gone outside the palace were for another reason altogether. 

High Prince Antony Stark was running away. 

Antony had been trapped in the palace his entire life, hidden away behind the walls and shut away from the world, from the city, from _life _itself. His only means of company were mostly silent guards and the occasional conversation with a maid and the few times he requested a night with a member of the palace harem, the consorts were chosen by Obadiah so he could control even that part of Antony’s life. 

Every moment of Antony’s life was controlled from the moment he awoke to the moment he was locked in his chambers for the evening and it was _intolerable_. Those who gazed at the palace from afar wished to live inside the golden walls but all Antony could think of was escaping, breathing, finally _existing _as his own person. 

In the morning, Antony was running away. His bag was packed, gold coins sold into his clothing for safekeeping, a ration of food set aside. Thanks to Obadiah’s efforts, the Prince’s identity was unknown to anyone outside the palace, so he would be all but invisible in the crowds, and his escape route had been planned for months. 

Three times in the last few weeks Antony had tested his plan in different steps. He had evaded his first bodyguard by showing more than a hint of skin after his bath, and while the man was still blinking in surprise, Antony had darted out the door to time how long it took to run down the stairs and through the corridor below. 

The second guard had been lulled to sleep by Antony’s monotone recitation of passages from his alchemy text, and had woken tied to the chair with the Prince no where in sight. Antony had stolen a peasants garb that day and spent _hours _watching the servants, timing their steps in and out of the castle, noting when they used the back stairs and when it wasn’t unusual to see a servant walking in the main foyer. 

Antony had simply bribed the third guard to look the other way when he went out to the city for a few hours, listening to the local dialects spoken in the market and memorizing all he could so he would better blend in with the common folk when he ran. 

Obadiah was _furious _the guards were so easily tricked by Antony and had threatened to place a new guard in the room every hour of day or night, so toady Antony had swiped Valerian root from the pantry downstairs and ground it to a fine power, planning to sprinkle it in the guard’s food or drink when the opportunity came. The sedative would keep the guard immobile for hours and by then, Antony would be long gone. 

Tomorrow at sunrise he would escape to the bazaar and beg a ride from a merchant on the way to the neighboring kingdom, or perhaps even a family on their way home to the plains. 

Antony would have to be careful though, lest he end up in trouble before even leaving the city limits. There had been whispers of strangers in the kingdom lately, dangerous men branded with the sign of Hydra, rumours that the red and black ink meant they were assassins. There was talk of accidents that were far more along the lines of murders, stories of those who spoke out against the Sovereign disappearing from their homes in the middle of the night, of boys being stolen away and returning ten years later scarred and fierce, evidence of their violent life inked onto their skin.

It was terrifying to think of such men hunting him through the city, but that fear was overshadowed by another, much more terrifying _truth_– Antony was nearly of age to take the throne, and he knew Obadiah would never let that happen. He could run away, or his Uncle would have him killed, but either way Antony would not be in the palace much longer. 

His mind racing, Antony went through his nighttime ablutions with heedless motions, patting moisturizing creme into his face, smoothing lotions up and down his legs, dabbing himself with a lightly scented powder and working a comb quickly through his damp curls. Perhaps the only thing in the palace he would miss were his pretty accessories and the overladen bookshelves, but his freedom was certainly worth giving up expensive toiletries and his favorite books–

–A _noise_, barely there at all, and Antony snapped to attention, though his motions never faltered. The noise was nothing more than a shift, perhaps even a quiet breath from with in his wardrobe, and Antony finished every step of his routine as if nothing was amiss before clearing his throat and asking out loud,

“You are my new bodyguard, then?” He stared into his mirror, concentrating on the shadowy form just barely visible between the slats of his doors. “ Bold of you to hide in my dressing room, are you supposed to watch me while I sleep? Surely my Uncle is not worried about me leaving my chambers in the middle of the night.” 

The doors creaked open and Antony’s eyes flared in a hint of panic when he saw the knife in the strangers hand. “You– you are not one of my Uncle’s soldiers.” 

“I am not.” came the hoarse answer, the man’s voice rough as if he hadn’t been expecting to speak. “But what have you done to former guards that you are expecting a replacement?”

“I distracted the last several guards assigned to me.” Antony turned from the mirror, hiding the sharp tweezers he used for more meticulous grooming in the palm of his hand. “Nothing more than harmless pranks.” 

Dark blue eyes tracked over Antony’s almost nude form, lingering at the lacy hem of his sleep shorts for a long moment. “You distracted your guard by being naked?” 

“I distracted him by reciting pages from my scientific texts.” Antony retorted, gulping back an unexpected surge of <strike>_interest _</strike>when the intruder moved forward and his worn tunic stretched tight across broad arms and a heavy chest. “Passages about chemistry and alchemy and the study of the stars.” 

“Why do you distract your guards?” the stranger’s gaze swept back to Antony’s face, studying him closely. “What are you doing that they cannot see?” 

“I– I sneak out onto the roof.” Antony turned the tweezers so the sharp end pointed out. They weren’t near enough to stop so large a man, but they would draw blood and with the advantage of surprise, Antony might be able a few steps head start _away_. “Climb out the window and onto the roof ‘tis all.” 

It wasn’t entirely a lie, Antony had been climbing out his bedroom window to the roof for years now. It wasn’t why he’d distracted the guards recently, but he had no intention of sharing the truth with _this _man.

The intruder took another step forward, the light catching the curved edge of his knife and sudden realization settled like a _rock _into Antony’s stomach when he saw red and black ink peeking from the man’s collar. 

_Hydra. The stories are true._

“…You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

The intruders blue eyes flickered in what looked like regret and maybe even indecision but before Antony could put any thought into why an assassin looked _regretful_, the stranger appeared to make up his mind and put an end to his indecision, moving forward forward lightning fast to knock the tweezers from Antony’s grip and clap a calloused hand over his mouth. 

Antony struggled immediately, kicking out with his legs and flailing with his arms but the man was too strong to be thwarted, using his considerable size and strength to force Antony from the dressing room and into the bed chamber, not letting up until Antony ran into the side of the bed and scrambled unceremoniously up onto the mattress. 

There was no more than a second of reprieve from the pressure over Antony’s mouth before the assassin clambered onto the bed as well, knees planted on either side of Antony’s body to pin him motionless, blade held firmly at his jugular. 

Antony made a muffled, _panicked _noise as the knife dug deeper, screwed his eyes shut and prayed it would be over quickly. There was no use screaming, no guards would come to rescue him if this was sanctioned by his Uncle but he didn’t want to lie here bleeding, he didn’t want it to be slow, he just wanted it to be _over_– 

–the stranger stopped, leaned back on his heels and muttered a rough curse. 

“Do not scream.” he said slowly, firmly and Antony forced his eyes open again, confused tears dripping down his cheek. The stranger cursed again when he saw the tears, and repeated, “If I take my hand from your mouth, don’t scream. Please do not scream.” 

_…Please?_

Antony managed a jerky nod, clenching his fingers in the blankets and trying not to flinch when the knife left his throat, and after another few seconds, the hand fell away from his mouth. 

“Why did you climb out the window?” the man asked in the same slow, hoarse tone. “When you tricked your guards. Why did you climb out the window?”

“Because I–I–” Antony swallowed hard and blinked away another tear, too relieved to still be breathing to wonder why the assassin was asking questions. “Because I wanted to see the sunrise. The windows here only face West so I never see the sunrise. They lock my door every night and unlock my doors only after the morning bells and I–” he shook his head as carefully as he dared. “Can you imagine wanting something as simple as a sunrise and being told no?” 

The answer came as a halting whisper, “Yes. Yes I can imagine that very well.” 

“Then you understand how awful it is.” Emboldened by the strangers hesitancy, and intrigued by the weary _truth _in the man’s words, Antony flexed his arms, pushing against the weight of the man’s knees. “This isn’t– it’s not a _palace_, it’s a gilded cage. My Uncle swears all these guards are too keep me safe, but every day it feels more like a prison. And even prisoners get to see the sunrise, don’t they? Why shouldn’t I?” 

“Not all prisoners get to see the sunrise.” The assassin answered, and there was the _regret _again, like shadows cross his face. “Not all of us.”

There was a book beneath Antony’s pillow, the third volume in a series on weaponry, and if Antony could grab it, the book would be an effective weapon against the intruder. It was heavy enough to knock a grown man out, and Antony was at a distinct disadvantage being pinned but there was a chance…

For a reason he didn’t quite understand himself, Antony didn’t reach for the book. Perhaps it was the way the stranger looked so _lost _in that moment, perhaps it was the conflict flickering in the blue eyes or even the resignation in the words ‘_not all of us_’ that stayed his hand. 

_Not all of us_, as if the stranger was just as much a prisoner as Antony, _not all of us_ as if he were just as trapped as the Prince, and with another close look into the _misery _in the strangers gaze, the last bit of fear left Antony’s heart and mind. 

The stranger startled when Antony wriggled his arms free, but made no move to stop him as Antony reached up to brush the collar aside to bare the Hydra tattoo. The man didn’t pull away nor did he lift his knife and Antony took that as permission, maybe even _encouragement_. 

“What are you doing?” the question was almost fearful, as if being touched was something foreign to the man, and Antony’s heart twisted in a rush of sorrow and an unexpected flare of kinship. 

_Not all of prisoners get to see the sunrise._

“You’re Hydra.” Antony rubbed over the cephalopod design, curiosity warring with horror in his eyes. “Aren’t you? They’re actually real. Assassins. _Spies_. Did my Uncle call you here to kill me?” 

“I don’t know where the orders come from, I only know to comply. This–” the man paused, exhaled. “–this will be the first time I haven’t obeyed.” 

“Oh.” Antony swallowed back the rush of relief, and flattened his palm to the tattoo, thumb hovering over the intruders pulse. “What do they call you?” He had nothing to lose tonight, either the assassin would change his mind and complete his mission, or at sunrise Antony would run away. Either way, tonight was the last time Antony would be _here _and he wanted to know everything before it was too late. “Did they take your name and give you another?” 

“They call me Nomad.” the intruder almost sounded amused by Antony’s curiosity. “Do you question everyone who comes to your bedroom?” 

“Those granted entry to my bedroom are here to guard my life or rumple my sheets and neither activity leaves room for questions.” Antony retorted, too fully immersed in his exploration of the bold red ink and black curling design of the Hydra brand to catch the barely there smile from Nomad at the sardonic reply. 

“I heard Hydra keeps assassins for ten years.” Antony sat up on his elbow to get a closer look at the scrolling letters written into the Nomad’s chest, mouthing the words as they came to him and scrunching his nose when he realized they were dates. “Is that true? When is your contract expired? When will you earn your freedom?” 

“It was supposed to be at sunrise tomorrow.” 

Antony’s hand fell away as dread washed back through his core, the need to know_, _to ask questions, the momentary thrill of learning _secrets _replaced by a stomach turning _understanding_. 

“If you don’t finish this tonight–” 

“–I will belong to Hydra for another ten years.” 

“—_oh_.” 

“For what it’s worth.” Remorse rose in Nomad’s throat like bile, weighing down his words. “I am sorry for this. For all of this.” 

“Wh–why are you sorry?” The Prince’s chest was heaving but he didn’t look frightened, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling in the rising moonlight as he refused to look away from the Nomad’s gaze. “This is your duty, your mission, your _freedom_. Why would you be sorry?” 

“For frightening you.” The Nomad reached very slowly for the Prince’s hand, uncurling it from it’s grip on the bed and placing it back over his Hydra brand. “I knew I couldn’t kill you before I even saw you, somehow I still have enough of my soul to stay my hand, but I still waited, I still _tried_. But it is wrong to end someone already imprisoned, especially one so beautiful. We are both trapped, you and I. But I am barely a man any more and you are nearly celestial. You do not deserve death, not from me.” 

The Prince exhaled shakily and pressed a little harder against the brand, then smoothed over the line of dates own beneath Nomad’s collar, never breaking eye contact though his bottom lip was trembling. “You think I am beautiful?” 

“You are like sunshine.” Nomad murmured, despair filling his veins like lead. _Hydra would own him forever for this_. “Like daybreak. Heavenly and fleeting, and almost close enough to touch but always out of my reach.” 

He lifted off of the Prince altogether, rolling from the bed and sheathing his knife as he went, turning his back as he tightened the ties of his tunic to hide the Hydra mark again. “Go well with you, my Prince. I will leave you in peace.” 

“Wait.” Antony scrambled off the blankets and to the door before the Nomad left the bedroom entirely. “_Wait_, where are you going?” 

“To walk the city and wait for the sun.” Nomad wrapped the end length of his headscarf over his beard. “And my sentence from Hydra. Perhaps I’ll see you on the palace roof when the sun rises before they come to take me away.” 

“Before they come to— No, no. Stay with me.” the Prince whispered, and Nomad’s head jerked up in confusion. “Stay with me, Nomad. _Stay_.”

A small hand on his chest and the Nomad nearly stopped breathing. “You heart is pounding.” the Prince wet his lips and Nomad’s body tightened to the point of _aching_, fear and uncertainty and anger and sorrow melding and _sharpening _until his entire being was entranced by the sight of a pink tongue parting shapely lips. “Are you afraid to stay?” 

“Are you?” the Nomad said a thousand prayers in every language he knew before lifting his own hand and spreading it over the Prince’s heart. “Are you afraid, Prince?” 

“I should be, but why be scared of what is inevitable?” came the whisper. “I had hoped to run away before my Uncle moved to kill me, but one way or another I was never meant long for this world. Why would I be scared when there is nothing left to be anxious about?” 

“You should be terrified.” Nomad disagreed, but the words didn’t stop him from leaning further into the Prince’s palm, nor did it stop the Prince from arching up beneath the Nomad’s hand, the same hitch in their breath and spark in their eyes as the moment shifted from uncertain to _electric_. 

“There is a thin line between terror and arousal, Nomad.” the Prince swept away the scarf so he could see all of Nomad’s face again, fingers gentle at his chin. . “I have lived my entire life behind these walls, taken pleasure with only those allowed, spent my nights alone and my days wondering what else there is to the world. I should be terrified, but I am not, and you should have taken my life and your freedom by now and you have not. Stay. There is no reason to be alone now.” 

“You are far too innocent to be inviting a man like myself to your bed.” Nomad shook his head, almost pleading. _Let me go, let me go, I am already a doomed man_. “You are soft, beautiful and fragile and I will ruin you. You are reckless to wish it.” 

“I _am _beautiful.” The Prince’s smile grew a little bit. “But I am far from innocent, further still from fragile. Reckless because I have nothing to lose, perhaps even seeking danger because it is the closest to truly living I will ever find. ” 

He wrapped the ties of Nomad’s tunic around his knuckles, using them to bring him down until they were nearly nose to nose. “We are both trapped, both desperate to be free, both uncertain of what the sunrise will bring, both alone in the moonlight. What would it hurt to lose a few hours together? Don’t you think there are better things to spill on sheets than blood? Stay.” 

It was nearly a kiss then, nearly a brush of lips because the Nomad _needed _and he _wanted _even though he knew this could only end bed badly, but the Prince pulled away at the last second and shook his head. “I will know your real name before taking you into my body, Nomad. Your _true _name.” 

“Oh.” The Nomad’s fingers tightened to the point of pain at the Prince’s hips, the name that came to him as foreign as the sensation of silk in his fingers. “…Steven. My name is Steven.” 

“Steven.” the Prince’s smile was secret and _thrilling_, his voice husky as he answered, “My name is Antony. So you know for whom to cry when you find your pleasure.” 

“Antony.” Steven’s voice was nothing more than a growl, Antony’s answering breath little more than a whine and Steven _broke_, burying both hands into the thick hair, dragging the Prince up for a kiss more brutal than pleasing, more bruising than teasing. 

Antony looped both arms around Steven’s neck and pulled him down closer, arching his back and lifting his hips to grind up against the immovable body, panting a quiet, “_Steven_.” but then crying out in surprise when Steve suddenly jerked away, one big hand in the middle of Antony’s chest to force him back.

“Do _not _restrain me.” Steven started to order, but the sentence was barely finished before he was apologizing, distress written across his features. “Antony, Prince, I am sorry. I did not mean to–it has been so long since–”

Antony stepped right back against Steven’s chest and lifted onto his toes to crush their mouths together again, silencing Steven’s unneeded apology with his lips. “You are much stronger than my usual consorts.” he murmured with a hint of glee and more than a measure of comfort, of _understanding_. “They are delicate women or men I can dominate but you–_oh_.” 

“_Oh _I’d like to see you.” Antony rasped, rucking up Steven’s tunic to scratch his nails down the tensed muscles hidden beneath “You have seen nearly all of my body, I want to see yours. Your tunic, your trousers. Take them off.” 

Steven swallowed back the urge to hide, to warn the Prince about the tattoos and the scars but Antony shook his head again, insisting, “I am not so innocent to believe scars ruin a man. Show me, _show me_.” 

Steven let go of Antony only long enough to loosen the laces of his shirt, pulling it up and over his shoulders and tossing it away and the Prince’s breath caught on a startled, _greedy _inhale when he got to see the breadth of Steven’s chest, the way the ink deepened in the moonlight and nearly shimmered, the way the scars of a thousand different moments painted a story no one would ever truly know. 

“I’ve never–” Antony explored the line of the scar twisting across Steven’s side with worshipful fingers. “I’ve never known so god like a man in my life. Surely even the deities are not this incredible.”

The Prince moved forward into another kiss, his lips lush and full against Steven’s, his tongue satin as it swept the seam of Steven’s mouth. He moaned softly when wide hands spanned the dip of his waist and spread across the curve of his hips and this time when the Nomad pushed him towards the bed, Antony went eager and _wanting_, hooking his fingers into Steven’s trousers and pulling him along as well. 

Antony was wearing only those damnable sheer shorts and Steven tore away from another searing kiss to bend nearly double and get his mouth on the lace waistband, scraping his teeth along the jut of a gorgeous hip bone and down further to dampen the material and skin beneath with his tongue. 

Antony’s hands landed at Steven’s shoulders, not holding nor pushing just _resting _and through the haze of inhaling the sweet oils in the crease of Antony’s thigh, Steven recognized the gesture for what it was, the Prince respecting Steven’s need to not be held down or restrained but still wanting to _touch_. 

_What gods were responsible for this beauty?_

“Can I have your hands here, is that alright?” Steven encircled both of Antony’s wrists in his palm and lifted them up above the Prince’s head, lengthening the already long lines of the slender body and putting Antony on full display. 

“But I want to touch you.” Antony obediently left his hands there at the pillow, but a wonderfully full bottom lip poked out in a faux pout. “It doesn’t seem fair that you are so beautiful but I cannot touch.” 

“_You _are beautiful.” Steven felt foolish parroting Antony’s words back to him but it was all he could manage. Stretched out on moonlit sheets, Antony was all flawless skin and gold flecked eyes, dots of gems in his ears, on his chest and into his navel, touchable curls and lean muscles. He was beautiful while everything in Steven’s world had been hard, cruel and cold and _hateful _for so long. 

“_Beautiful_.” he repeated, smoothing his palm down Antony’s sternum and to the dip of his navel, down further to the sheer shorts doing so little to disguise how much Antony wanted this, wanted _him _and the knowledge made Steven’s blood surge, made his own cock fill flush and full. “You look like sunlight.” Antony’s mouth parted in surprise over the unexpected compliment, his cheeks tinting a pleased pink. “You’re perfect.” 

“Touch me.” Antony breathed and this time when Steven bent to kiss him, Antony met him halfway, nipping at Steven’s bottom lip and sucking at a venturing tongue as it curled against his own. Steve mouthed along Antony’s jaw and sucked a harsh kiss on the softest spot behind the Prince’s ear, left a trail of sharp bites and soothing kisses down Antony’s throat and tongued over an out of control pulse. 

“Perfect.” Steven groaned, abandoning his exploration of Antony’s neck and shoulder to give an experimental lick at the golden bar pierced through the Prince’s right nipple, switching sides to give the same treatment to the other one, drawing the cool metal between his lips and warming it in his mouth. Antony tossed his head back and cried Steven’s name when a scrape of teeth set his body on _fire_, and Steven groaned again, grinding his hips into the bed, the friction only ratcheting up his desire even further. 

And then Steven found the gem at Antony’s navel and sparks popped bright white behind Antony’s eyelids when the Nomad tugged at it gently, big hands spread wide on Antony’s hips to hold him still as the Nomad’s tongue dipped and swirled, tasting and licking the sweetly scented soap from satin smooth skin. 

“You taste so good, my Prince.” Steve gasped, flattening his tongue to the length of Antony’s cock and suckling at him through the thin material, lapping at the bittersweet liquid gathering at the tip. Antony’s back bowed and he nearly came off the bed with a startled shout, and Steven pushed his forehead into the soft give of the Prince’s stomach, struggling for breath, for _patience_, for the strength to slow down and enjoy every one of these stolen seconds, to draw them out as long as possible. 

“No, don’t stop!” Antony begged, hoarse and pleading and all things Steve never thought he would hear from a lover again. “Oh, don’t stop, don’t slow down. More. _More_.”

“Do you have something to ease our way?” Steven was reduced to nearly begging himself, torn between needing this moment to last forever and being near desperate to know every intimate, hidden inch of Antony. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Oh my Nomad, I think you could hurt me a little bit.” Antony’s smile was sharp, _wicked _but he magicked a slim vial of slick oil from beneath his pillow all the same and went to press it into Steven’s palm. 

“No.” That was a step too far, too heavy a burden on Steven’s self control. “Prepare yourself for me. I– I want to watch.” 

There was that wicked smile again, but it fell away into something much more lazy and _knowing _as Antony uncorked the vial and smoothed the thin liquid between his palms. 

Steven plucked at the hem of Antony’s sleep shorts, palmed across the straining length dampening the material to translucent and then dragged them down Antony’s hips, off of shapely calves and away from Antony’s finely arched feet. 

“_Oh_.” All the air punched out of Steven when Antony was finally bare to his eyes, and his lips parted in wonder as Antony closed his own palm around his cock and stroked leisurely for a moment, waiting until Steven choked out a curse before lifting one long leg over Steven’s shoulder to make room for his hand down low between his thighs. 

Steven couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, the way Antony’s index finger circled the puckered rim before slipping inside, the way Antony’s dark eyes fluttered closed and his stomach tensed at the first intrusion. He couldn’t look away, but that didn’t stop him from turning his head just enough to press lips to Antony’s delicate ankle bone, to rub his nose against the finely crafted anklets shining golden against silky skin. 

Antony added a second finger and _mewled _over the stretch and Steven’s teeth lay a hint too sharp at the muscle of his calf, and when Antony thrust his hand sharply and twisted his wrist to make himself squirm, Steven squeezed at himself through his pants, his cock throbbing, staining the linen. 

“Another?” Antony panted and Steve pushed his trousers down his thighs in answer, growling in approval when Antony’s dark eyes widened and the slim fingers started moving faster. “Yes, _yes_, I’ll need another.” 

Steven inched closer as Antony drizzled more lube into his palm, the air heavy with the earthy, aphrodisiac scent of the Zallough root. It made Steven’s head spin, made Antony’s body lax with desire, loose and _open _and when Steven couldn’t take the wait anymore and replaced Antony’s hand with his own, the Prince trembled through a quick nod, gasping as he spread wide around Steven’s thicker fingers. 

“Steven–” Antony wanted a kiss, needed to taste Steven’s mouth again, needed to hide his growing vulnerability by muffling his cries against the Nomad’s tongue. He sat up–

–and only succeeded in shoving himself down onto Steven’s fingers deeper than he intended, deeper than either had been expecting and Antony nearly _screamed_, jolting forward to clutch at Steven’s shoulder and shuddering through a body racking moan. 

“_Antony_.” Steven was wrecked, near his breaking point, feeling as if he could lose himself to nothing more than the sound of Antony panting in his ear. “I can’t wait–you’re too much–.” 

“Yes.” Antony rocked his hips forward to drive Steven’s fingers inside him again, leaving a sharp bite on Steven’s earlobe and gasping, “Yes, _yes_, my Nomad.” 

More slick, coating Steven’s cock and dripping between their bodies and the Nomad simply lifted Antony onto his lap, directing the long legs on either side of his waist and lining himself up with Antony’s entrance. “Here, sweetheart, _here_.” 

The endearment was unintended, unexpected, but neither had a chance to wonder at the ease of the word when Tony sank down over Steven, taking all of him in one smooth slide that made the Nomad _shout_, made his hands tighten to almost bruising at Antony’s waist. 

The moon was high in the sky now, cool air blowing through the open window and when Antony shivered, Steven pulled him close, lay him down in the bed and stretched out over Antony’s frame, covering him from shoulder to toe. 

“_Yes_.” The words fell apart in a cry at the first stroke, Steven hating every microsecond of leaving Antony’s body, reveling in the crash and slide back together and the choked gasp from Antony’s throat. “_Yes_.” 

“My Prince.” Steven whispered, pulling away and moving forward again, and when Antony tipped his chin for a kiss, Steven didn’t dare resist, didn’t dare say no, how could he say no to the chance to take Antony’s mouth the same way he was taking his body, tongue thrusting and stroking and shattering Steve’s mind with pleasure. 

“_Please_.” 

Steven wanted to pin Antony down, wanted to hold him on the bed and bruise the perfect body but _nonono_ that wasn’t–he wasn’t– 

“Do it.” Antony urged breathlessly, and only then did Steven realize he’d been so lost in the mind blanking pleasure of filling Antony again and again, _again and again and again_ that he’d already lifted Antony’s hands up into the pillows, that his grip was too tight at Antony’s hips. 

“…no.” Steven started to shake his head, to deny what he wanted but Antony arched up for a filthy kiss, teeth and tongue and greedy, grasping moans and a ragged, “Hold me down. Show me this sort of freedom. My Nomad….” 

Antony _yelped _when the next thrust was hard enough to shove him further up the mattress, deep enough to make him see stars. Steven whispered, “Tell me no, tell me no, tell me no.” as he placed his hand at Antony’s neck but the Prince only hissed, “_Yes_!” and strained up against Steven’s palm to encourage the pressure harder. 

They weren’t so much kissing then as they were only sharing air, panting into each others lips, gasping into each others mouths, Steven driving in and out of Antony’s beautifully pliant body with short, hard strokes, hammering over a pleasure spot deep into Antony’s passage that made the brunette toss his head back and _scream_, tear at the pillows in his hands and _beg_. 

Long legs wrapped tight around Steven’s waist and Antony managed a– “Is this too much like restraint–?” before Steven hitched them even tighter around him and went back to pressing at Antony’s throat, dropping his head to tongue and lick over the piercings at Antony’s chest, breath coming ragged and harsh and hoarse as his hips snapped forward over and over, faster and _harder _as the moment spiraled out of control 

“My Nomad–” Antony whimpered and Steve growled into his ear, “My name, say my name.” 

“_Steven_!” Antony cried, ripping at the pillows and locking up tense and tight as he nearly found his edge. “Steven–Steven, please I’m– I’m–” 

Steven drove forward once last time, bent far over Antony’s body and sealed their mouths together to quiet the Prince’s _wail_, barely coherent enough to think to reach down and stroke Antony’s cock. Once, twice he pulled over the slender length and then Antony was coming, splintering apart at the seams and needing Steven to keep him together, forgetting to keep his hands up above his head and clinging to the Nomad instead as his body shook through each rise and fall and shattering tremor. 

Steven buried his face in Antony’s neck, closed his teeth over the thrum of the Prince’s pulse, whispered, “Antony.” and found his freedom with a quiet sob. 

“_Antony_.” 

***************

***************

_Sunrise_. 

Pale light crept along soon to be filled streets, touching on ancient stones and filtering through shaded windows to coax sleepy eyes to open.

The world woke one by one, leaving behind dreams for the call of another day, the children already singing, the vendors already on the way to market, doors opening and friends gathering as the cool of night gave way to the warmth of day break. 

The cut glass of the temple split the rays into a million hues, soaking the streets and staining the holy waters with jeweled tones, and as the light moved towards the palace the city came alive in it’s wake, the sunrise touching everything in it’s path. 

The sunrise touched everything. 

_Everything and everyone including Antony and his Nomad._

“It’s beautiful.” Antony watched the sunlight dance off the tips of the palace spires, smiled as it swept over the walls and lit the palace bright white. “Maybe the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen.” 

Steven tipped his chin up so the sun washed over his face and chased the chill of shadows away, and when he reached for Antony’s hand and found Antony reaching for him at the same time, he smiled as well. 

“The most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen.” he agreed. “It feels like freedom, at least for a few minutes.” 

Antony came to Steven’s lap, straddling Steven’s thighs and pressing close with a quiet hum. “Stay with me.” 

“…what?” 

“Stay with me.” Antony repeated, drawing over the scars on Steven’s shoulder, admiring the bold ink of the tattoos in the early morning light. “You and I are both trapped, me within the palace and you by your contract to Hydra, but no one could ever hurt me with you at my side, and I have the money to help us disappear anywhere. Anywhere you want, my Nomad. Stay with me.” 

“You want to run away together.” Steven pulled back until he could see Antony’s eyes, the shine of gold in the dark brown depths. “Is that it? Staying together will not be easy, not here nor on the run, even with me protecting you and you with your wealth. There is an entire world that won’t want to see us together.” 

“I don’t care about that, I don’t care about where we go, or what we do.” Antony whispered, drawing his fingers through Steven’s hair and tugging gently on the dark blonde strands. “I just want to be with you and watch the sunrise together. Let’s find out own freedom.” 

Steven cupped Antony’s chin and drew him close for a slow, tender kiss. 

“We will find our own freedom, my Prince. With this sunrise, and a thousand more.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note From the Commissioner: 
> 
> “To my best friend Jojo, the most amazing person on this entire planet, from Shana. I love you SO much. Enjoy your present. Next time maybe you’ll actually tell me what you want for your birthday instead of letting me choose.”

“Happiest of birthdays, _Amyr _Antony.” The visiting dignitary bowed low enough for the ridiculous tuft of feathers on his headdress to scrape along the floor. “And may the coming year bring you infinite success and joy, and the loyalty of a thousand friends.” **  
**

High Prince Antony Stark, _Amyr _and Sovereign, twenty years old today and sole heir to the gold and jewels and _power _due the Stark name, put his hand over his heart in a brief acknowledgment of the kind words, then forced his smile a little brighter when the next person in line came forward to offer their own greetings and well wishes. 

Antony did not know a single one of the attending royalty, not the Kings and Sovereigns, not the consorts trailing along behind, not the Prince’s who met his eyes so boldly nor the attending concubines that peeked from beneath sheer veils and trailed ringed fingers along the line of their throat in an attempt to _entice_. 

To be chosen as companion to the Prince on his birthday was a high honor indeed, and one worth _striving _for, so Antony was presented with flashes of lush, bronzed skin and pouting lips, perfectly muscled abdomens and beautifully toned arms as the parade of consorts and concubines alike tried to catch his attention. It was distracting to say the least, to see so _much _offered beyond the droning of meaningless praise and blessings and Antony almost felt guilty for being bored with it all. 

It was difficult to engage, to be _charming_, when the room was full of strangers and Antony did not recognize a single person gathered in the ballroom, not even the guards or the servants. 

After his Uncle Obadiah had so unexpectedly _passed_, Antony had taken the throne as Sovereign and his first command had been a complete overturn of anyone who worked in the palace. For years he had been held prisoner behind the golden walls, locked in his room at night and kept away from the city and her people, hidden away from the light lest he learn anything _unsavory _about his Uncle’s doings, and Antony did not want the same people that had locked his bedroom doors bowing and scraping and pledging their allegiance. 

Once Obadiah was gone, his soldiers were gone as well, the loyal servants and anyone who had supported the former Sovereign, and every new addition to the palace’s staff had been thoroughly vetted by the only person Antony trusted in the entire world–

–the Hydra Assassin known in the shadows as _Nomad_. 

“My Prince.” A strong hand settled at the back of Tony’s neck, calloused and rough, the lips at his ear chapped and warm. “Are you alright?” 

“All is well.” Antony did not let himself lean back into the steadying palm, nor did he turn his head to bring his mouth closer to the Nomad’s. “But I am already weary of this celebration. Too many well wishers who know nothing of myself or my land and are only here for the advantages my favor will bring. I am weary of it already and the night has only half begun.” 

“Weary?” the deep voice pressed. “Or _anxious_?” 

“I am twenty years old.” Antony answered quietly. “I am High Prince and certain Sovereign of this Kingdom and have been raised in all things traditional and known, according to the laws. I am fully capable of leading this Kingdom and would have no reason to be anxious, uncertain or anything other than entirely set in my ways, in my decisions, and in my conduct.” 

“Of course you are.” The pressure of a thumb circling his pulse and Antony clenched his hand into the folds of his tunic, the brash red silk and golden threads crumpling in his fingers as he forced himself _still_. “But if you are feeling anxious, you only need to say the word and I will take you away from here.” 

“All is well, Nomad.” Antony said again, holding his breath until the hand at his neck moved and the weight of the Nomad’s presence receded several steps to his post as High Guard. “Thank you.” 

_Oh _he wanted to reach for his Nomad’s hand, wanted to bring the dangerous soldier back to his side and hide within the assassin’s arms. He wanted to run away from all these people and all this noise, from the blatant perusal from those who wanted to know him intimately, the empty words from those who didn’t care to know him at all. 

Nine months Obadiah had been gone now, the Sovereign’s chambers breached by some unseen force and his throat slit as he lay on silken sheets. The blood had soaked through the bed and into the floor, staining the beautiful wooden slats and rendering the room unusable, the stomach turning scent of _death _soiling the air even with the windows open and the breeze blowing through. 

Nine months Obadiah had been gone and that night Antony had pressed his lips to the palms of his Nomad when they were still darkened red with vengeance. The Prince had fallen to his knees in quiet gratitude and thanked Steven for his escape with his body, his mouth and his hands over and _over _until the soldier had fallen apart with a sob and a desperate cry of Antony’s name. 

Nine months, and Antony had thought freedom from Obadiah would come so easy and instead it had come with anxiety and fear, the realization that he knew so little and was ill prepared to lead, the discovery that his Uncle had not only kept him from the world but had kept so much of the world from him. 

Antony had never considered himself naive until he was crowned Sovereign, had not considered himself immature until he started to long for the escape of his room and his books instead of courtly dealings, and now on his twentieth birthday, Antony had never considered himself weak but today he was _scared_. 

Every eye in the room was on him waiting for a pronouncement, perhaps a speech, some words of wisdom or even words of gluttony and greed and entitlement because he was afforded the right to _everything _now that he wore the crown. 

Every eye in the room was on him, but he could feel the heat of his Nomad’s stare as well, protective and possessive and loving and that alone gave Antony the courage to stand to his feet and stretch his smile even wider, to throw his hands up and call for music and dancing and for everyone to raise a drink in celebration for his birthday. 

Antony had never considered himself one to wear a mask, but in the nine months since Obadiah had gone, he wore the mask of spoiled Prince all too well. 

So when a Princess with hair the color of fire and laughing green eyes offered her hand to dance, Antony only smiled and raised her knuckles to his mouth for a kiss, and walked her to the floor. 

No one had to know he would rather be anywhere else than dancing around a room full of people, dressed in all his finery and wearing a golden circlet on his head. No one had to know sitting in the same seat as his Uncle made him tremble or that the newly won responsibilities made him sit up at night sick to his stomach over fear of failure. 

They all saw a Prince laughing his way through a celebration, swaying to the music, twisting his hips and following his partners steps with nimble feet, and no one knew the truth. 

No one except the Nomad.

*************

Steven watched with narrowed eyes as Antony spun from one partner to another, head tipped back laughing in excitement as the music picked up in tempo. 

The woman dancing with the Prince was beautiful in a stunning sort of way, flawless skin and alluring eyes, red and golden hair that resembled the sunrises Antony loved to watch so often. She was all soft, lean curves and lovely long limbs, the perfect companion to a Prince who lived his life in silk and satin, lace and gold. She would know how to order a Kingdom, how to conduct herself in court, how to speak with the dozens and _dozens _of visitors that would come through the palace to earn Antony’s favor or hope to influence him with matters of trade and security. 

The music slid to another song and Steven tensed when Antony kept dancing with the same woman, sashaying and stepping with the sort of grace a soldier would never know. It was a grace Steven wouldn’t have recognized when he had been a peasant farmer stolen from his life by Hydra, and it was a grace he could only watch from afar now that he was both assassin and body guard to the Prince. 

It would be unheard of, unacceptable for him to even _try _to dance with Antony today. No matter who he and the Prince were behind closed doors, who they became together as they sought freedom in each others arm, Antony was a Prince of light and sunshine and Nomad, a soldier bound to the shadows, watching from a distance as the man he loved lived a life he could never join. 

The knowledge made Steven’s fists clench at his side, the urge to hold Antony _rocketing _through his body and nearly propelling him forward a step. It was only the presence of other guards that kept him from moving forward, knowing a breach of protocol or a move towards the Prince might very well lead the other guards to think something was wrong. 

Steven had hand chosen the men that watched the throne room and patrolled the grounds. After Obadiah had been taken care of, he had left and sought out men he knew personally to hold the swords that protected the palace doors. No one except the Nomad brought a weapon near the Prince’s chambers, no one except the Nomad even _approached _the Prince and today, half the guards were watching the party, the other half turned at various corners to watch each and every entrance, alcove and curtained spot.

Every soldier gathered was ready and willing to do anything their commander ordered, whether it was to intervene in the party and rush their Prince to safety, or draw their weapons and cut any offending individuals to ribbons and Steven knew he could not move to the Prince without causing something of a panic. 

No, he had to remain here behind the throne and content himself with a few touches that would be seen as proprietary– a gentle hand on a shoulder to direct the Prince’s attention, a stolen brush across his arm, whispered words that couldn’t say _half _of what he longed to say. 

What sweet torture, to be so close to the one he loved, and to be so far away all at the same time. What _agony _to watch Antony spin around the room with his arms on someone much better suited to his glory than Steven. What pain and _anger _it inspired to not be able to shout their love from the rooftops, to not flaunt the way they were _beautiful _together, to not walk along with hands clasped and be the envy of all gathered. 

It was as if the moon loved the sun, and they met in passing only in the seconds between dusk and dawn, one living in the light, the other surviving in the dark. 

Steven would drive himself to madness with such thoughts, so he pushed them away and straightened his shoulders, tipped his chin up and broadened his stance until he was the very picture of _menace_, looming over the throne and pinning any one who strayed too close to the Prince with a quelling glare. 

He might not be able to touch his love as he wanted, to soothe the anxiety and worry in Antony’s dark eyes or settle the tremble the Prince was trying so hard to hide, but he could be sure no one else saw those things either. 

Antony bowed away from his dance partner just then, all flushed cheeks and delightfully tousled hair, his shirt slipping low to bare a glitter dusted shoulder and drawing the attention of more than a few covetous gazes. 

_Gods _he was beautiful, and despite the admiring stares and murmurs, the Prince had eyes only for Steven as he came towards the throne, his hips swaying and anklets tinkling as he moved and only when Steve’s gaze dropped to the still bared shoulder did Antony bother to adjust his tunic, a sultry, teasing smile curving his mouth when he saw Steven’s lips tighten to try and suppress a smile of his own. 

_Oh_, what the Prince did to him with nothing more than a _look_. 

“Steven.” Antony said quietly, hushed and whispered and this close Steven could see the tension lines around the Prince’s smile, could see the strain in his posture, the weariness and worry in his eyes. “Have I done enough? Will you take me to my room now?” 

“My Prince.” Steve answered just as quietly, and in words that were nearly a breath, “Soon, my love. We have to pretend for another few minutes.” 

“Soon.” Antony repeated and the effort of _pretending _nearly brought tears to his eyes. “Soon.” 

*************

It was well past midnight bells when the celebration began to dwindle, the moon high in the sky before the music slowed and the drink trickled to nearly nothing. 

Antony lounged in his throne masking his exhaustion with a lazy smile, fending off inquiries about the former Sovereign with a wave of his hand, laughing at anyone who suggested he might benefit from a senior adviser to help with royal matters, sneering at anyone who offered their own _personal _adviser with the assurance that the advice given would only benefit both their Kingdoms. 

He was beyond tired, beyond tense, itchy and antsy and so badly needing to wrapped in his Nomad’s arms that Antony thought he could whimper when yet _another _consort came forward with a thinly veiled offer to join his bed for the night. 

“Surely it isn’t right for such a beautiful Prince to sleep alone on his birthday.” One said, stunning in nothing more than an open vest and fitted pants, a shock of white blonde hair over brilliant blue eyes. “Perhaps you would enjoy company?” 

“I’d wager he wants a quieter venue for those particular pursuits.” another suggested, holding a bottle of sweet wine and two glasses, and then a third that offered, “A walk in the gardens, My Prince? We could watch the sunrise together.” 

“I am flattered by your attentions.” Antony said smoothly, working to keep his voice low and agreeable. “Twas not so long ago I was limited to who I could ask to my bed, but now I am Sovereign with many willing partners, ones whose beauty make my head spin. How fortunate a Prince, to be so spoiled in this way.” 

“My Prince, it nearly sounds as if you are turning us down.” Another chimed in, full lips pulled to a pout, lovely hands propped on a trim waist. “Or have you already chosen a partner for your evening?” 

“I’ve already chosen my partner.” This smile was the first real smile Antony had given all evening, and the accompanying blush brought murmurs of both admiration and disappointment from the hopeful paramours gathered around. “But I am flattered all the same.” 

“Another time, My Prince?” 

“Perhaps.” he allowed, and then turned to the Nomad behind his throne and inclined his head towards the door. “My chambers, please.” 

The Nomad offered a short bow, barked a command towards the surrounding soldiers and instantly a path was created from the throne to the door, a wall of soldiers that ensured the Prince was blocked from view and safe for every step until he’d left the grand ballroom and started into the private hall that lead upstairs and to his room. 

“Steven?” he asked quietly, and when Steven shook his head, Antony seemed to wilt, his shoulders slumping. “…Soon?” 

“Soon.” Steven promised and Antony offered him a tired, shaky smile before going on his way up the sealed passage to his chamber alone. Steven waited until Antony disappeared from view and the tell tale _clunk _of a bolt proved the Prince was well and safe in his own room, and then returned to the ball room to bring the rest of the party to an end. 

It was another hour before the last guest wandered off to their quarters and only then did Steven begin locking down the palace for the night. 

First he set patrols to each suite with strict instructions that _no one_ was to leave their rooms before sunrise. There were bells to ring the servants if anything was needed and each suite had bathing facilities so there was no reason for anyone other than guards to be in the halls, no reason for anyone to be wandering and perhaps bringing trouble and danger to their just _recently _secure life. 

Next the Nomad walked the perimeter of the castle himself, assigning posts and checking barred doors. The guards were never given the same duties lest someone learn the rotation and use it to sneak in, and the doors were barred and locked two different ways. It seemed excessive, but the Nomad had spent ten years slipping through the crack of impenetrable places and now that Antony was trusting him with their safety, he would take no chances. 

Only once everything was set and secure for the night did Steve take the main stairs up to the Prince’s room, and throw open the doors to find his love. 

“…Antony.” He whispered when he found the Prince on the floor by the bed, beautiful clothing rumpled and worn, eyes glazed and listless, fingers clutching at the heavy carpet as if he needed grounding. “Oh My Prince, was it so terrible today?” 

“I know we agreed that freedom here _together _was better than freedom on the run, looking over our shoulders and wondering when Obadiah will find us.” Antony said dully. “And I know I am no longer confined to my rooms, locked away from the world. You keep me safe, not trapped and I am eternally grateful.” 

“But?” Steven undid his belt and set his scabbard on the table, loosened the ties of his tunic, pulled off his headscarf and ran his fingers through his hair. “What’s bothering you, sweetheart?” 

“Sometimes the crown feels as heavy as shackles and the responsibilities as weighted as chains.” Antony admitted, his voice thick with misery. “I almost long for the days when all I did was plan to escape my guards and sneak out to hear the children sing. I know learning to rule is the right thing to do. Running away and leaving the Kingdom without a ruler would be unwise and immature, and yet every day I feel further in my prison than before.” 

“Antony–” 

“Tonight was my birthday and I couldn’t do what I wanted.” The Prince interrupted, tears gathering in his eyes and slipping down his cheek. “I wasn’t free to run to you or to dance through the gardens with my Nomad at my side, I was trapped in that room pretending—“ he shook his head. “I thought with Obadiah gone I would feel free, but all I feel is worry. All I do is pretend to be someone I’m not. I don’t like pretending, Steven. I– I don’t like wearing a mask.” 

“I don’t like pretending either.” Steven whispered. “Watching you dance all day and wishing I could join you, watching all those people ask you to bed and having to stop myself from announcing that you are mine and mine alone. Some times I forget we do not belong together, Antony. And today reminded me–”

“No.” Antony was suddenly in his arms, pressing close and flattening his palm over the brilliantly inked Hydra brand on Steven’s chest. “No, my love. We belong together, you and I. Don’t say that. I will _always _be yours.” 

“_Mine_.” A wave of possessiveness _rocked _the Nomad, and he spanned Antony’s waist with his hands, bringing the brunette tighter over his heart. A year ago he had been a prisoner of Hydra, a soldier forced to do their bidding, a man who had nearly forgotten his own name. But today he had a name and _freedom _and this beautiful Prince he loved more than anything in the world. “Are you mine, my Prince?” 

“Only yours.” Antony tucked his head into Steven’s shoulder, his entire body shuddering as he breathed out in relief. “We don’t have to pretend here in our rooms. I am yours and you are mine, my Nomad.”

“Come then.” Steven brushed a kiss over Antony’s cheek, down his neck. “Let’s stop pretending and fall into bed together. I’ve missed you today.” 

“_Mmmm_.” Antony pushed at the Nomad until they were moving backwards towards a chair and he didn’t let up until Steve fell back onto the cushions, legs spread and arms open. “You didn’t like being so far away from me. I could see if in your eyes, you were half mad with needing to touch me.” 

“Half mad, yes. Maybe even a little jealous they could touch you the way I wanted to.” Steven lowered his brows in confusion when Antony backed up a few steps and started undoing the waist of his trousers. “Come here, my love. Let me hold you.” 

“No one touches me the way you do.” Antony whispered. “And there is none better suited for me either. There is only you for me, Steven.” 

Steve growled in approval, and Antony paused with his hands at his trouser clasps. “Will you… will you tell me what to do, my Nomad? Will you tell me how to please you?” 

“_Oh_.” Steven’s blue eyes sparked hot at the simple question. This was a particular freedom they both reveled in, the Prince gifting the Nomad with control, willing to be the one obeying instead of the one being obeyed. “Are you sure?” 

“I–” Antony gestured a little helplessly, the sheen of tears returning to his eyes. “I feel a little lost today, unbalanced? Today was difficult, pretending for so long. I had to smile at people I do not know, and be away from you and wonder every second if I was doing the right thing and acting the way I should and now I need, I _need_–” 

“_Shhh_.” It took most of Steven’s self control to not leap from the chair and gather the Prince up into his arms again. The night Obadiah died he had vowed to _never _give Antony a reason to cry again and yet here the beautiful brunette was shaking and nearly sobbing and it was _destroying _him. “_Shhh_, sweetheart. Are you sure? Tonight?” 

“It’s my birthday.” Antony did another of those helpless gestures. “I should have at least _one _thing I want, shouldn’t I?” 

“You should have everything you want, Antony.” Steve leaned back in the chair and blew out a deep breath, quelling the urge to simply order the Prince to his arms immediately. Antony needed more than that, he needed to relinquish some of the control and responsibility thrust upon him and be able to focus on simply breathing, simply _being_. 

Antony needed Steven to be _everything_, and Steve wanted to be _everything _for his love. 

“Are you listening?” he finally asked and Antony nodded quickly, visible relief spreading liquid through his frame, so Steven began softly, “Your trousers, first. You’ve been teasing me all day with the way they cling to your legs. Take them off.” 

“Yes.” Antony’s shoulders relaxed at the very first direction. Steven was taking away even the need to _think _and after such an exhausting day, the simple command was calming. “Yes, my Nomad.” 

The material swished away from Antony’s lean hips and fell down his legs to the floor, the length of his tunic covering the silky sheer shorts he wore beneath and something Steven hadn’t realized was spun _tight _inside his chest suddenly eased. 

_Oh, he was beautiful. _

“Your tunic, my love.” he instructed, the restriction at his heart lessening even more when Antony obeyed immediately, the wide collared shirt loosening and falling off one glitter dusted shoulder and then the other until it slid and caught for a split second on the golden hoops pierced through the Prince’s nipples. 

Antony gasped at the sudden tug, his eyes falling close and knees buckling and Steven was halfway out of his chair to catch him before Antony straightened again. 

“Alright?” Steven asked quietly, and Antony’s smile was a little dazed as he wriggled out of the remainder of his tunic, brushing his palms over the golden hoops again to make himself shiver. “You are so beautiful, Antony. More beautiful than any sunrise I’ve ever seen.” 

Antony’s cheeks flushed soft, pleased pink at the praise and Steven murmured, “Come to me, darling. On your knees.” 

The bangles at Antony’s wrist _clinked _as he went to all fours, the delicate chains and charms wrapped at his ankles tinkling and _oh _Steven thought he would stop breathing as Antony moved, slow, slinking, nearly _crawling _until he was between Steven’s spread knees and peeking up at him from beneath thick lashes. 

“Is this freedom for you?” Steven asked hoarsely, leaning forward to card his fingers through Antony’s hair, to tug at the curls and sweep down to cup his jaw, further to press at his throat until the Princes breath came ragged and harsh. “Is this real for you, being here on your knees for a soldier? You aren’t pretending at all, are you?” 

“Not pretending.” Antony’s lips parted obediently when Stevens thumb swept along them, his head falling back as the pressure at his throat increased. “And you are not just _a_ soldier, you are _my _soldier, _my _Nomad. This is surrender and surrender is freedom with you. I don’t have to think, I don’t have to worry, I don’t have to pretend, with you I can just _be _and that is enough.” 

“I love you.” It was heaven to finally be able to _touch _and Steven didn’t hesitate to bring their mouths together, humming in contentment when Antony opened soft and pliant for him, allowing Steven to control the depth of the kiss, the drugging slide of tongue and teasing nip of teeth. “My Prince, I love you too.” 

“Please.” Antony’s fingers were trembling where they dug into Steven’s thigh, the kiss growing sloppy and lax as he slid towards settling. “I’m so close, my love. So close to being– being _free._” 

“I know.” Steven eased the heel of his palm down the already straining ridge of his cock and breathed a quiet curse. Just having _Antony _was enough to bring him to hardness, but watching the beautiful brunette undress, watching him _kneel _was enough to nearly tip the Nomad over to pleasure. “I know you are close. Come here, like this.” 

Most Prince’s would _balk _at being directed but Antony fell into his submission with a sort of relief that made Steven’s heart clench and his breath catch. Someone so royal, so important, trusting a man like him to protect, to hold, to help him let go of everything that caused worry–

–it was humbling. It was freeing. _It was too much_. 

And when Antony reached and lifted Steven from his pants, parted ruby red lips and flicked his tongue out to gather the _wet _at the tip of Steven’s cock, it was too _much _and the Nomad gave a hoarse, quiet shout, shoved his hands into the Prince’s thick hair and guided Antony’s mouth _down _until the pretty brunette gasped, then shuddered and took him even further. 

Antony gave himself over fully to this particular freedom, obedience, submission and willingly offering everything he could for anything his Nomad wanted and it was _gorgeous_.

“Perfect.” Steven managed and Antony only sighed happily, slipping further beneath the heady _floating _that came with letting go. “Oh oh my love—”

****************

After, when the moon was nearly gone from the sky, after Antony had taken Steve’s release down his throat and spilled his own pleasure into his silk shorts, _after, _they sat for a long time in silence. 

Antony stayed kneeling between Steven’s legs, his head resting on the Nomad’s knee, his eyes heavy lidded and mouth parted as he breathed in slow, steady, nearly asleep. 

“You are my freedom, Antony.” Steven whispered into the early dawn, and the Prince shifted to look up at him with a sweet smile, the very first hint of light on the horizon catching the gold in his dark eyes and making it sparkle. “You are my sunrise. All I could ever want and more than I deserve.” 

“I love you.” Antony answered softly, and lay his head back down, content to be with his Nomad, content to be free like _this _as the sun rose over the palace. “My Nomad.” 


End file.
